Feet Firmly On The Ground
by tennismaniac19
Summary: At Puddlemere United, chaos reigns inside newly promoted full time Keeper, Oliver Wood, when a new Chaser joins the ranks. [Written for the Quidditch Fanfiction League Round 6]


**Round 6**

 **Team: Puddlemere United**

 **Position: Captain**

 **Prompt: Lust**

 **2019 words.**

* * *

Two years after the war, things had finally returned to normal. There was peace and stability, and wounds had begun healing properly. Oliver Wood had fought in the Battle of Hogwarts that fateful year, and now he had been promoted to the fulltime Keeper at Puddlemere United. Things were going well indeed.

"Oi, Oliver! We have the Chaser tryouts today. Don't be late, otherwise Coach will have us doing suicides for hours."

Oliver lifted his head from his playbook to see the annoyed face of Margery Kent. She was the new reserve Keeper after he had been promoted.

"Aye. I haven't forgotten. Don't worry so much," he said, returning to the food in front of him.

Puddlemere's Third Chaser, Timothy Hoult, had retired at the end of the season, and instead of digging through the reserves, the coach had decided to hold completely new tryouts in order to look for fresh talent.

As Keepers, Oliver and Margery were needed at the tryouts, along with the Beaters and the other two Chasers. The captain and Seeker, Lin Summers, would also be present at the tryouts. There was no chance of Oliver missing it.

…

Coach blew the whistle and the first player flew into the sky. His name was Jason Faust, and he was unabashedly terrible. He flew badly and coordinated with horrendous misjudgment. The whistle blew before the allotted fifteen minutes was over.

Oliver turned towards Margery and grimaced. She looked like she had just seen Bellatrix Lestrange cuddle a Pygmy Puff. If this was the standard of players they were going to get, they were in for a tough season.

The second player was average at best, and both Oliver and Margery were able to handle her attempts at goal without much trouble.

It was only when the third player flew into the air that Oliver woke up fully.

"Cara Vikander!" Coach announced, as she took her place next to the other two Chasers.

Oliver couldn't take his eyes off her. She had thick black hair which was neatly pinned in place in order to avoid the harsh wind. Her brown eyes were focused, and her lips were drawn into a thin line. She flew like she had wings. Her sharp turns were precise, and she was able to communicate well with the other Chasers. She managed to score against Margery each time, and even got one past Oliver.

By the time tryouts were over, it was clear who had gotten the spot. Coach shook hands with everyone and then led Cara Vikander into the manager's office.

"We've got a good one!" smiled Lin, as she packed up the equipment.

"Yeah. I couldn't block any of her attempts! She was quite fantastic!" gushed Margery.

The chatter continued as they went into the dining hall. Cara Vikander joined them right at the end of the meal. She said a few quiet hellos, and answered the questions thrown at her with a hint of disinterest. She made eye contact with Oliver for the briefest of moments, and he could swear he saw something dancing in her eyes.

Oliver didn't say much throughout the meal, and concentrated on eating the food in front of him. He was exhausted, and he had a feeling he wouldn't get much sleep that night.

…

The first week of practice with the new team was exhausting. Not only was the weather terrible, but Oliver found himself struggling against his newest teammate.

There was something unsettling about her. Maybe it was because he wasn't used to her flying style. He found her moves very difficult to predict, often cursing himself when she managed to outmaneuver him. She had integrated herself beautifully with the rest of the team. He appeared to be the only one out of sorts at the moment.

The sun was setting on Friday, as the last round of plays was performed. Everyone was sagging with exhaustion, and one of the Beaters hit the Bludger at a strange angle, sending it hurtling towards Oliver's face. He spotted it just in time to get his right hand up and shield his face. There was a loud crunch, as he felt pain sear through his right hand.

The whistle was blown, and everyone flew over to Oliver to find out if he was okay. All the attention irritated him for some reason, and he brushed off everyone, saying that he was fine.

"It just scrapped me. I've had worse, don't worry," he feigned assurance, though the throbbing had increased tremendously.

"Alright. If Wood says he's fine, then he is. Make sure you visit the medic if it bothers you, Wood," said Coach gruffly, before ushering everyone away to the locker rooms.

Oliver nodded his head, and waited for people to finish showering before going in himself. He didn't particularly want to talk to anyone. His right hand was shaking now, and he bit his lip trying to ease the pain slightly.

Taking off his robes was not that difficult. He even managed to shower fine. It was only when he got to buttoning his shirt that Oliver winced inaudibly.

"You should have gone to the medic."

He jerked his head towards the door to see the last person he wanted to see.

Cara Vikander was standing there, appraising him coolly with her hands folded in front of her.

"I'm fine," he replied gruffly.

"I knew you were stubborn, but this is just stupid. You need to get that injury taken care of, Wood," she said, without a shred of emotion in her voice.

Oliver looked at her strangely. He had never thought that brown eyes could look so cold and unwelcoming.

"Aye. I don't need you to give me any advice. I can take care of myself," he spat out.

"I can see that," she said, and he could hear the faint sneer in her tone.

Suddenly, she was standing in front of him. Oliver frowned, opening his mouth to tell her off, when her hands slowly gripped his unbuttoned shirt.

The words died in his throat as he became aware of her proximity. She paid no heed to his labored breathing as she began working on his shirt, deftly buttoning it up.

Every time her fingers brushed any part of his skin, Oliver felt himself tense. He was acutely aware of the smell of her freshly washed hair – citrus.

"Stop," he said, hoarsely.

The pain in his right hand was clouding his vision, and he couldn't really manage any coherent thoughts. All that he could do was to engrave a deep frown on his forehead.

Once she had finished, she took a step back and looked him up and down, as if admiring her handiwork.

"Don't worry, Wood. It's mutual."

She left after uttering those words, making Oliver's head reel with pain and confusion.

…

Oliver had to skip Monday's practice because of his injury. It had healed completely, but the medic, who eerily resembled Madam Pomfrey, had insisted rather strongly that he refrain from activities that involved the use of his hand, which, for him, meant that he was more or less stuck indoors.

He never liked staying in his room. He loved being outside and practicing till he was tired to the bone.

But there was something more to his discomfort this time. He had come to a strange realization after Friday. His anger, frustration, distractedness and unsettled feeling were all making sense to him now. He thought of her smooth golden skin, her full-ish lips, her haunting brown eyes and her slender figure enhanced by the wispy material of her shirtdress.

He was inexplicably attracted to Cara Vikander.

A knock on his door brought him out of his thoughts.

"It's open," he said, slumping back into his bed.

"Strangely arrogant, aren't we, Wood?"

He sat upright at the sound of her voice. Why was she in his room? She was wearing a loose white t-shirt with something written in gold. Her khaki shorts hung low on her hips, revealing a tantalizing glimpse of her navel.

"What're you doing here, Vikander?"

"Coach asked me to give you this," she said, throwing a piece of parchment in his direction.

"What is it?" he asked, curiously.

"How should I know?" she shrugged.

Oliver felt anger course through him as she nonchalantly gathered up her hair into a ponytail, unwittingly exposing more of her golden skin to him. Attraction and rage pumped in his veins as he got up and took a few steps closer to her.

"Mutual, eh?" he asked, his eyes looking directly into hers.

She froze mid-action and whipped her head towards him. He saw her expression change from surprised to challenging.

"What if it is?" she asked, moving towards him as well.

He could see her slender neck from where she had pulled her hair up. There was a tiny scar near her collarbone, and with every step she took forward, her scent grew stronger.

 _Citrus again_ , he thought.

"I thought intra-team fraternization was strictly forbidden," she said, although the challenge in her voice was much higher this time.

"Aye, it is."

They were centimeters apart now. He could feel her breath near the base of his neck. This was the moment. He could feel his restraint ebbing.

"What do you propose to do about that?" she whispered, her mouth grazing his ear.

"Fuck the rules," he muttered, as he closed the distance between them.

His lips crashed down on hers with a vicious need. He felt her hands wrap themselves around his neck and try and bring herself even closer to him. Her lips were soft but she bruised and battered his own relentlessly. She tasted of chocolate and he pulled her hair out of its restraints, carelessly brushing his fingers through the thick tresses.

She stood on her toes and moved her lips roughly over his. He felt her tongue against his lips, and desperately tried to reign in the moan that was waiting to break out. He felt her warm tongue caress the insides of his mouth, a shiver running down his spine.

He wrenched his mouth away from hers and began trailing kisses on her collarbone. Her fingers clutched the nape of his hair, and he knew that he had found her spot.

He continued to lick and suck her neck and collarbone, as she arched into him desperately. He could feel her breathing become ragged, and she kept trying to bring him even closer to her.

All of sudden, they hit the bed and tumbled into the covers. After a moment of disheveled disorientation, he locked lips with her again. The kisses were passionate and both their mouths were open.

He could feel her moving over him with an urgency he also felt. He had never let himself go like this before. He barely knew her. She had been on the team for about a week, and here he was snogging the living daylights out of her.

And it felt fantastic.

Oliver had always followed rules, stuck to routines and schedules, only concentrating on Quidditch and other things related to it.

Now he felt like he had been released. The pure pleasure of kissing Cara, fondling her and fighting for dominance was overwhelming.

His hands travelled under her t-shirt, caressing bare skin and eliciting very attractive moans from her. He was done with teasing now. His hands searched for her bra, undoing the clasp quickly. She shrugged it off and settled on his lap comfortably.

This seemed to have sparked something and soon there was a heap of clothes on one side of the bed.

Oliver kissed her everywhere. And she moaned responsively every time he touched her. Her fingers glided across him, making him shudder and pull her closer.

The heat was overwhelming, and she was intoxicating. He didn't want to stop. This was far too enjoyable.

"Don't stop," she panted.

 _At Puddlemere United, we do not tolerate team members engaging in anything beyond a friendly teamwork._

 _No dating. No snogging. No shagging._

He kissed her hungrily, as she wrapped herself more securely around him.

…

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